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These were the last fourteen minutes of his life. “Wojo, you’re up,” a valet with watery eyes announced as a midnightblue BMW turned the corner and crept up the driveway.

Anthony Wojowicz was older—thirty-two, which made him practically geriatric in the valet scene. But with parents who worked in the mine—truly in the mine; his stepdad worked days, his mom used to work the hoot-owl shift overnight—Wojo wasn’t afraid of hard work.